


Enigma Machine

by bigstupidjellyfish



Series: Crimes Against Creation [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Prowl, dubious alien physiology, secret agents shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstupidjellyfish/pseuds/bigstupidjellyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost the "fake married" fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enigma Machine

_"Are these meetings always so cramped?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Awful. How do you usually manage?"_

_"By being the only Cybertronian in the room,_ usually _."_

_"Ow, partner :( Ow "_

_"Oh shut up."_

_"...:( "_

_" :D"_

Skids thought that he'd never do diplomatic work again once he went completely undercover and was paired with a cheerful chatty hacker, but apparently their boss had different opinion on that matter and every intention on utilizing all of his agents' potential in attempts to squeeze as much intel as he could.

This assignment wasn't much to the former theoretician's taste as he was tasked with digging some dirt on their potential allies in war, but as Getaway explained, Prowl always suspecting everyone and if he wasn't playing some double games at the moment, it could only mean that he was plotting some quadruple intrigue. Skids' new partner even tried to lighten his mood with promises that he'd absolutely include mating customs of some of Council species in the final mission report just to make Prowl's face twitch painfully while reading it. For some reason, the idea seemed appealing to Skids.

_"This one looks like he's annoyed."_

_"He's actually showing his appreciation - look at the lowered mandibles. Or she. I always forget what the difference is."_

_"Nerd."_

_"Hey >:( "_

_"Anyway, there's no way to tell that this he-she isn't gonna flip the switch if this green thing with the hat won't shut up."_

_"Sadly, agreed."_

This meeting wasn't even that important to the remnants of the Autobot forces. The organics discussed the supply lines and trading in the regions barely interesting to the Cybertronians, and Skids calculated their race hadn't a single thing to contribute to the discussed topic in the first five minutes of the summit. Their presence here was entirely formal and incredibly boring.

Skids was glad he decided to talk to Getaway about his habit of making thoughtful, but sarcastic remarks all the time before boarding the ship this meeting was held on. Almost a third of the young diplomat's work as an Autobot ambassador was keeping his face straight and not asking dumb and offensive questions, so Skids' was sure he could handle this summit with professionalism and skill. Getaway, who never worked with any organic species this close? Absolutely not.

The easy solution was actually letting Getaway make as many remarks as he wanted, but strictly in a way only Skids could understand. Ultrasonic, ultraviolet, infrared, electromagnetic and even some alpha and beta radiation emissions were registered with various degrees of success by many present species, so the spies had to resort to a truly ridiculous, Cybertronian-exclusive and desperately outdated way of communication - Cybertronian hand-to-hand language.

_"That thing in the tank looks bored."_

_"That's an octoxian. And you're right, they look bored out of both of their minds."_

_"Both minds? :o "_

_"Don't ask how it works, I don't know."_

However, Skids congratulated himself on thinking about the communication issue beforehand for the third (maybe even fourth?) time since the start of the meeting. Getaway's remarks made the summit way more entertaining than any political meeting should be, and the ability to make a small talk with his partner helped Skids ease the nervousness he felt every time he remembered that their presence here wasn't to just about sitting at the big table with sour faces while listening to glitching translators.

The mentioned bored octoxian suddenly rose up from the lump of colorful tentacles they were just a second ago and glared at the Cybertronians with a huge, pitch-black flat optic sensor. Getaway squirmed uncomfortably under their stare and remembered that in organics, the optics were apparently called "eyes".

Skids felt Getaway starting some word on his palm, but his fingers never formed it, leaving just a smeared gesture of nervousness.

 _"They're thought-sensitive. They must've been napping, tuned to react only when the conversation would focus on their race. We disturbed them,"_ Skids traced on Getaway's palm reassuringly.

The black eye disappeared under the tentacles again, its owners apparently realizing that two mechanoids were just as bored as they.

 _"AMAZING,"_ Getaway scratched against Skids' thumb with palpable sarcasm. _"Why don't we have a thing like that? I want to nap and come online only when people talk about me."_

_"A lot of organics turn out to be amazing if you learn about them a little."_

_"Their politicians are as boring as Kup's drills, though."_

Skids flicked his index finger, forming a laughing emoticon.

They were using a nuanced dialect of the ancient language, full of modern slang, subtle in movements and expressive in intonations. Skids learned the original dead language before the war out of boredom, but he had no idea about this variation. Getaway taught him it, mentioning that this dialect was just fresh out of the forge. Apparently Autobot war schools for made to order soldiers taught some dead languages as a part of their education, and young bots adapted the rusty and clunky speech to speak behind their teachers' backs and then perfected on the frontlines, creating diverse range of codes and cyphers. Getaway added, somewhat sadly, that this dialect wasn't widely known as the reduction of the life tests programs left out hand language, and many of the soldiers that taught Getaway and modified it with him didn't survive to pass their knowledge.

Skids reflected on his years in the Academy briefly. In Diplomatic corps (that actually taught about politics and diplomacy), they used the most modern method at the time, encryptors for short-ranged radio waves masked under the physiological white noise. This method required special software and hardware, and of course, all the teachers knew the encryption codes. What a group of constructed cold soldiers achieves while being at war without the fancy tech was admirable, Skids thought, feeling the even flow of heat emission from Getaway's palm against his.

 _"Finally!"_ Skids tapped an exclamation. _"A lunch break. I'm so hungry that this guy's hat looks tasty."_

_"You worry me, buddy."_

The lengthy speeches meant equally lengthy breaks. It was pretty quiet in the dining hall: organics preferred to look at what they were eating instead of how a neighbor was eating. It was a baseline politeness.

Skids and Getaway couldn't find a table big enough for them both or anything resembling it, so they peacefully occupied a far corner, munching their energon portions and continuing their stealthy conversation.

 _"Okay, as much as fun and interesting the Council politics are, let's not get distracted and forget our actual work here,"_ Getaway traced and tapped, barely moving his fingers against Skids' plates. He swallowed energon sticks faster that Skids could see them.

 _"Of course :/ "_ Skids scoffed, slowly chewing bits off his portion cube. _"All as planned: I tell everyone you were overwhelmed by seeing and listening to so many alien species and I sent you to our suite to recharge a bit. You do your tricks with their databases. Don't get caught."_

The legend was that Getaway is a diplomat in training, and Skids is his supervisor.

 _" :p "_ Getaway gestured coyly and sent a light electric jolt from one of his tools hidden in fingers.

"Ow!" Skids yelped in surprise, almost dropping his cube.

Getaway giggled, meeting Skids' frown melting into pouting expression.

Sudden movement in their direction alarmed them, and making both drop the playful mood.

The octoxian from before slowly moved to them, their hovering water tank whirring audibly in the quiet hall.

 _"Did you think loudly something offensive about them?"_ Getaway asked Skids immediately.

 _"What? I should be the one asking that,"_ Skids replied. Panic instantly jolted through him: a thought-sensitive species! Key word "thought"! What if the alien could actually read minds? It contradicted with information he knew about octoxians from his training, but who knows what the octoxians themselves thought was suitable for leaking to the alien intelligence.

The octoxian ambassador wasn't lying in the pile of own tentacles anymore, floating in the water and turning from side to side to look at the spies with one eye or another. Their body looked round and squishy and vulnerable to Getaway as it had no carcass to support or protect it. The paintjob was shimmering now, changing colors and making it hard to count the tentacles flapping around restlessly. The hacker counted at least seven. Maybe more.

The tank coughed some static sound and what the spies figured out was the translator started in flat and expressionless Cybertronian:

"Apologies for interrupting your meal. My cohabitant and I noticed you during the summit."

"Apologies on our part as well. We didn't mean to disturb you then," Skids politely answered and waited for the octoxian's translator to finish his reply. For some reason organics thought translating visual data into audial and vise versa was one of the hardest things in xenolinguistics, and alien translators always worked so slowly that Skids cringed every time he witnessed that.

Getaway wisely kept quiet, even his hand in Skids' was still. The diplomat belatedly noticed Getaway forgot half of a energon stick in his intake port.

 _"Getaway?"_ He touched his fingers worriedly.

_"They can read minds!"_

_"They're thought-sensitive, it's not the same,"_ Skids tried his best not to give away his own doubts.

The octoxian read the holographic reply and said:

"My cohabitant and I also did not mean to scare your [translation error]. It is not a political conversation. My cohabitant and I wish to discuss a personal matter."

Skids and Getaway looked at each other.

"Could you clarify?" Skids asked. He had zero idea what "personal matter" meant for an aquatic organic life form with two minds.

"Of course. My cohabitant and I run an independent research on the alien ways of cohabitation. Besides my cohabitant and me, you are the only species present in the quantity more than one. It is extremely rare to meet Cybertronians outside areas affected by your civil war. Mechanical life forms are mostly not researched. It might be our only opportunity to talk to [translation error] in peace. If you do not mind, my cohabitant and I will ask you some questions. No experiments or separation."

 _"What in the hell are they talking about???"_ Getaway asked.

 _"In short, their two minds are separate entities,"_ Skids tried his best to make sense of the poor translation riddled with alien concepts. _"I guess they find it weird that all other species have single minds and are looking for similar phenomena in aliens."_

 _"I didn't know they are aware of gestalt technology,"_ Getaway's reply was furious.

 _"They aren't supposed to be aware,"_ Skids answered with palpable fake optimism.

"Before we go deep into translation errors, I think I should ask about that term that seemed to be lost two times already," Skids tried the last option. He recalled several rather fierce disputes that later were blamed for language barrier. "What is that with the opportunity to talk to us? It didn't translate, and it didn't match for any term I know."

The tank was silent for a couple of minutes. The octoxian studied the hologram changing colors rapidly.

"There are no matching terms in Cybertronian language," they said. "The closest one is," the octoxian looked at their notes again, "conjunx endurae."

_"???!"_

"What makes you think we are conjunx endurae?" Skids decided to ignore Getaway's fidgeting. Translating one untranslatable alien concept with another untranslatable alien concept was a sure way to a political scandal.

The ambassador patiently explained:

"You share a physical bond at all times," they raised two of their many tentacles and locked them together as it were hands, "and it is evident that there is a link between you that resembles the link in [translation error] of our species."

The spies looked at their hands locked together. Skids felt dumb. And so much easier.

_"Skids, I think they think we're in cahoots."_

_"Yes."_

_"Because we hold hands."_

_"Yes."_

_"What do we do!!"_

_"Pretend that we're in cahoots."_

_"WHY!"_

_"Are you planning to say that the link that we're holding hands to actually talk to each other, and the link the octoxian ambassador assigned to conjunx endurae is actually gestalt technology?_ " Skids traced and patted, trying to calm Getaway. Of all things that could happen on a ship full of aliens, this wasn't the worst one.

_"Point. Taken."_

"It is fascinating," the octoxian said. "My cohabitant and I did not hope that you would demonstrate us this link."

Spies turned their attention to the curious alien once again.

"How can you tell?" Getaway asked. It was the first thing he said to any of the ambassadors since the beginning of the meeting.

"Our species are sensitive to shifts in minds," the translator flatly supplied, but Getaway thought the octoxian was trying to pick their words carefully. "You were showing signs of distress. Your conjunx endura used that link to make a shift in your thought process."

"Oh. Wow," Getaway didn't find what to say to this. "It's amazing that you can sense this." It was easy to play a rookie ambassador fainting in the middle of the summit when some of organics were that terrifying up close, Getaway thought.

"My cohabitant and I suspect that there might be other, more prominent ways of displaying that link?" Despite dull translation, the spies could tell that the octoxian were enthusiastic about their topic. "Something among," they looked through their holographic notes, searching for another alien concept their race were unfamiliar with, "the signs of affection?"

The Cybertronians were silent. Both didn't try to speak in their code in front of the ambassador who could sense their talking. They looked at each other, trying to figure out how to answer this question. Skids shrugged and said:

"Most of this is pretty intimate. However," he lifted his hand holding Getaway's palm, "if this contributes to your research, we can demonstrate something innocent." Skids looked into Getaway's optics. Getaway's optics narrowed.

"Please, do," the translator seemed to strain in attempts to convey the octoxian's excitement.

Skids carefully started moving his fingers on Getaway's palm, using old forms, clearly visible and easily readable by looking at them, not just feeling them:

_"I love you."_

Getaway's fingers shook a little. He ex-vented loudly and answered in similar manner to Skids:

_"I love you, too."_

They turned to intensely shimmering octoxian, still holding hands, fingers intertwined together.

"This is amazing. Thank you so much. My cohabitant and I did not think it is possible to add even a small note on your species."

They heard a signal that the break was almost over.

Skids flashed a smile:

"It's been a pleasure. Any chance I can read your research once you finish it?"

"My cohabitant and I will send you a copy," the pleased octoxian assured Skids. The diplomat wasn't just polite, he thought it could be actually an interesting thing to read.

 _"Skids. Our work here,"_ Getaway's touches were faint and quiet. Skids turned to him and said:

"My apologies. My conjunx needs a little more rest than that, I think it's best I walk with him to our suite and make sure he recharges peacefully."

"My cohabitant and I will notify the others," the tank with the octoxian was already on its way back to the meeting room.

"Thank you."

Skids and Getaway walked in the opposite direction. They felt as if their task was already successful. Unexpected conversation ended well and enforced their legend.

 _"That was smooth,"_ Getaway said as they approached their suite.

 _"I'll head back,"_ Skids decided not to lose time. Getaway squeezed his palm lightly. _"Be careful,"_ Skids added, knowing that he'll have to spend the rest of the meeting half dying of boredom half worried about his partner.

_"I will."_

 

* * *

 

Life was good, Skids thought. The drinks were good, flickering colorful lights were good, the company was good. Getaway's hand in his, warm and familiar, was especially good.

_" <3 "_

Skids grinned, feeling Getaway tracing an emoticon against his palm.

 _" :* "_ He answered, pretending to be listening to Crosscut's speeches about literature.

 _" <3 <3 <3 "_ Getaway was quick to retort it with even more emoticons. Skids laughed.

_" **< 3** "_

Swerve shook his head and said:

"I swear, they just come here and get drunk, but when they hold hands, they get progressively dumber faces with each minute."

Nautica looked at the spies, grinning at each other.

"Apparently they're happy together."

"Yes!" Swerve exclaimed, shaking the shaker with Nautica's cocktail as it was some valid point in conversation. "But that's not an excuse to look to dumb when they just /hold hands/."

"Oh, come on," Nautica laughed. "That's just cute. And so innocent."

Swerve continued shaking the drink with disapproval.

_"Do you think Swerve would approve a private booth with a dancing pole?"_

_"Do you have an idea I'm going to like?"_

_"Oh yes."_

_" <3 "_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Work title was "[S] Skids and Getaway: Be in cahoots."
> 
> Any of caught mistakes or formatting errors would be appreciated.


End file.
